


You're My Muse

by Areth



Category: Joker (2019)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety, Depression, Dom/sub, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Joker transformation, Light BDSM, Mental Health Issues, Plot, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings, Violence, romantic relationship with Arthur
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-12
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2021-01-29 14:37:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21411808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Areth/pseuds/Areth
Summary: You are a troubled artist just trying to make some money in the high end of town. You though the day was a complete waste until you met him.
Relationships: Joker/Reader, Joker/You
Comments: 4
Kudos: 66





	1. The Odd Man

A swirling cloud of vapor trailed out of your mouth, quickly dissipating into the frigid mid-November air as you stood on a slightly crowded Main Street in Gotham City. Men, women and children indifferently passed by you either not paying attention to you or giving you dirty looks for giving off the panhandler vibe. It was the more upscale area of town so you couldn't blame them.

You shoved your hands in your coat pockets cursing at yourself for not buying something warmer for this season, but it’s not like you could have anyway. Glancing over at the small paintings laid on a thin sheet you brought from home, a small pit of doubt began to burrow in your mind.

It was a bit of a stretch trying to sell your own art on the street but you really needed the money this month. It was only you and your father living together and it'd be a lie to say he was anything close to being financially stable. The only thing he was stable in was being an alcoholic.

Being in your mid 20’s and trying to have multiple jobs at once was hard as it was but having an absent mother was another thing. You grew up having no one to relate to and no one to go to when questions about growing up plagued your mind. Your father had always brushed them off. He had told your mother was a prostitute and she had abandoned you, but you questioned whether that was really the truth. From then on, the streets were your teacher and you were its student.

“Excuse me miss?” A soft gentle voice interrupted your negative thought and you snapped back to reality.

“Oh yes?” You answered looking up. In front of you stood a tall lanky man n a grey sweater and brown jacket. H_ow the hell is he not freezing?_ You thought as you forced a smile trying not to make it obvious that you were questioning his lack of attire.

“These paintings…They’re very beautiful.” He looked down to study one of your favorite pieces. It was a rather small canvas but the color palette you chose was an intense array of blacks, reds, and whites. It honestly reminded you of hell and demons screaming in agony, as morbid as it sounds. “Did you do these yourself?” He asked, glancing at you. The grayish-green of is eyes intrigued you.

“I did. They're nothing special, and some were tests but I enjoy making them.” You said as you made a small gesture with your hands. A small chuckle left the man’s lips making your eyebrow arch in confusion but soon that chuckle erupted into a fit of laughter. You involuntarily took a small jump back and furrowed your eyebrows, confused and slightly offended at the same time. “Did I say something funny?” You asked with a slight annoyed tone as you regained your stance.

Shaking his hand as if to mean no, the man struggled to speak as if it were horribly painful. “Hahahahahaaaa! S-so..Pffft hahaha sorry, I can’t.” He covered his mouth with one hand whilst using the other to fish something out his pocket and hand it to you. “I can't he-hel-ha ha ha! Help it!” The last two word leaving his mouth with a forced tone.

Looking down, you look to the small laminated card he had handed you. It was slightly crumpled and the paper has aged, taking on a slight yellow tint. In small black words, it read:

_ **I have a condition.** _

_ **It causes me to laugh uncontrollably at inappropriate times. ** _

_ **Sorry for the disturbance ** _

_ **-Arthur Fleck ** _

Sympathy suddenly washed over you as well as guilt from your sight attitude from earlier. “Oh, so your name is Arthur?” You ask, giving the poor man a few minutes to catch his breath. After what felt like 45 seconds, he let out an embarrassed cough and nodded. Giving him a small but genuine smile, you told him your name as well. Nothing could come wrong of it, right? It’s not like you'd see him again in this big hectic city. Plus you enjoyed the company, it was better than all the posh annoyed looks you were getting from the people passing you by.

“Such a beautiful name…” Arthur said with a spaced out expression on his face. He suddenly realized why he said. “I…I mean I've just never met any girl with that name before.” A brief look of sadness flickered in his eyes making you more curious about him. What was it about this man that interested you?

“Thanks Arthur. Well, to be fair, Ive never met any person that'd be willing to buy my paintings.” You chuckled, at your own self deprecating joke hoping it wouldn't bring the mood down even more. Arthur let out a sudden surprised chuckled and looked at your sad excuse for a ‘gallery’.

“People are crazy. Your work is unique and it brings color to Gotham.” Hearing this, it was as if confidence slapped you on the back. You really needed to hear that today. “I would buy one but unfortunately I don't have much cash on me. My job isn't really giving me any gigs like they used to.

_Gigs? Is he in a band or something?_ You pondered a bit surprised. He definitely didn't look like the type to play music. He had the tall lankiness of a musician but his fashion sense was anything but. He dressed like a 60 year old man despite looking just shy of 42.

“Gigs? If you don't mind me asking, what type of gigs?” You asked.

He looked at you with a content look and a shy smile. His job must be something he enjoys, thats nice. You thought.

“Im a performance clown.”

Well, _THAT_ was unexpected. Now his look was more accurate to his job.

“I get different jobs from different clients but my favorite gigs are when I get to perform to children. They’re so much less critical than adults and they actually laugh at my jokes.”

You thought it was sweet how humble he was, almost innocent about his job even though it was seen as most by an undesirable career. But you shouldn't be one to judge. “That sounds nice.” You said softy giving out a chuckle.

Arthur pulled back his jacket sleeve and looked at his watch. “Well, it's about time I head home but it was really nice to meet you…” His voice seemed to trail off as if he was contemplating something. “Can I…Do you think…” His words came out mumbled as if he was internally fighting himself about pushing out what he was planning to say. You looked at him quizzically as he took a deep breath and looked as you nervously.

“Can we maybe meet up for coffee? I know a really good place downtown and it’s not that expensive.” Your lips pucker in surprise, a habit you developed over the years. This was a turn of events. You thought you'd never see this man after this, being so used to being brushed off.

Was he asking you out? It was hard to tell because he is so polite, and his timidness didn't raise any alarms in you. Usually, when guys have tried to hit on you, they were always do revolting with the things they said to get your attention. But this seemed different.

_ Well, It couldn't hurt to make a friend since I don't really have any. You thought. Plus, it'd give me an excuse to not be around the house when Dad got back home late. _

“Sure, Let me give you my business card. It has my number on it.” You say the words ‘business card’ a bit softly than the rest embarrassed because they were barely that. You managed to find some yardstick lying around the house and since you didn't have much time to do designs, you quickly wrote your Name, email and phone number for ‘Artist inquiries’. As if you'd get any.

Handing Arthur the card, he smiled as he looked at your messy rushed penmanship on the card before sticking it in the inner pocket of his jacket.

“It was really nice meeting you!” The shyest bit of excitement in his voice made you smile as he began to walk down the block. You watched him disappear around the corner, thin whips of cloud vapor trailing behind him.

A sigh escaped your lips as you looked down as your layout before starting to pack it up to head home. Even though you didn't sell any paintings, today wasn't a total waste.

What an odd man.


	2. Whiskey and Pills

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **QUICK WARNING AHEAD THAT THERE IS MENTION OF ALCOHOLISM AND IMPLIED SELF HARM**

After gathering up your setup, you began making your way toward the bus stop. The sun had begun to set which cast a lonely blue aura across the town. Winters in Gotham were the most depressing time of year. Not many people liked to come out of their buildings unless they needed to and when they did, they weren't the happiest. The rate of homelessness rises up during this time of the year too, so it saddens you to see men, women and even children on the street asking for spare change or food.

Gotham wasn't a kind town.

You nudged your scarf with your upper lip in order to try to shield your face from the brisk wind as you dug in your pocket for a bus token. Thankfully, the bus was on time and people started getting on one by one. 

As you stepped on, you knew you needed to quickly grab a window seat. Last time you decided to sell art and take a packed bus back home, you were plastered between a mother with a baby on her lap and an older woman who lacked the decency to wait to get home to eat her chowder soup. The driver was anything but gentle when breaking so let's just say you went home with a large white stain on your coat and a week's worth of smelling like the sea. 

This time thankfully there were a few window seats open. A sigh of relief left your lips as you sat down in the seat nearest to the window and placed your items on the chair beside you. The bus hummed and shook as the driver accelerated and started driving to the next stop. 

Riding the bus, although not always convenient, was a small pleasure in your routine. Usually, you take this time to take a small nap or ponder about what the next day was going to be like. It also meant time away from your father. 

You didn't hate your father, but you weren't a fan to say the least of him either. It was almost as if you were indifferent. He had played a role much in your life besides the first few years of your life and even then, he would usually leave you by his siste'rs house. The only thing you couldn't stand is when he would drink. His moods shifted quickly and often took you by surprise, especially when they turned violent. A few times the neighbors were forced to call the police when they heard your father threatening to beat you.

Those memories were fuzzy as you tried not to remember them.

After what seemed like 20 minutes, half the amount of people on the bus were gone and you knew that your stop was coming up. You gathered your things and stood by the back door of the bus, waiting to push the stop button. The sun had already set and it was almost pitch black outside if it weren't for the flickering neon signs of the closed stores illuminating the street. You took note of this and grabbed your keys from your pocket, sticking the longest key out from between your index and middle finger to serve as a weapon. This part of town wasn't exactly the safest.

Alerting the bus driver to stop, the bus came to a halt and you stepped out. Immediately, your face felt as if it was being lightly stung by small needles and was accompanied by harsh wind. The temperature has dropped considerably and small hail flecks speckled across your exposed skin. You cursed at yourself, wishing you had gotten home sooner before the weather changed. 

_If it only hadn't been for that guy, _you thought somewhat grumpy. You knew it wasn't his fault but you tired and couldn't wait to be inside where it was warm. Your thought lingered as you made your way down the block about whether or not he would call you. _What was his name again? Anthony? Adrian? _Your thoughts flashed back to that little weathered down card he gave you.

_Arthur._

A small smirk formed on your lips. Thinking about it, it was the perfect name for him. He just looked like an Arthur; not so average but not an outcast either. Thinking about him, you start to remember small details that piqued your interest in him. The way he nervously stuffed his hands in his pockets and slightly hunched, looking like a frightened animal. His long hair, definitely needing a trim. And his eyes. The way they looked so intense yet filled with pain at the same time. 

Being too busy inside your own head, you didn't realize how quick you had walked to your building. Turning the key and opening the door, you walked through the dimly lit lobby of your post war apartment building. The state of the building was nothing close to pleasant; there were strips here and there of wallpaper peeling onto the floor, the faintest scent on mildew lingering in the air and the sickly yellow glow of the occasional flickering light rods illuminating the place. 

_Welcome home, _ you though as you walked up one flight of stairs to your apartment on your right. The loud sound of the tv echoed from behind the door accompanied by a thud and someone cursing like a sailor. Dad was home and n doubt in your mind that he had been drinking. You sighed and opened the door, planning to get to your room as quick as possible. The warm comforter laying messily on the bed from this morning was calling you name. 

“Eh?…(Y/N)? Is that you coming home so late?” The words slurred out of your father's mouth as he turned to look at you from the old sofa in the living room.  _Who else would it be? No one visits us anymore, not like they would want to anyway. _

“Yeah, dad. I was out working.” You mumbled. You had a feeling you already knew what he was going to say and you really didn't want to hear it. 

“Working? I hope that means you got a job and aren't still trying to sell that art shit you do.” 

_Fuck! _ You could feel the hurt in your hear when he said that. even though you thought you'd be used to it, it didn't matter how many times he degraded your skill it still hurt to hear that. Art was one of the only things you enjoyed that you used as an escape from reality. Even though you weren't a master, it was your passion. 

All it was to your father was garbage.

“I'm going to bed.” You quickly made your way to the kitchen, grabbing a medication bottle and a glass of water before heading to your room. At least this would make your father more tolerable to be around, but that's only because your medication made you sleepy.

“Going to bed? You didn't answer my question! I swear if I had the energy I’d— OH WHAT IS HE DOING?!” Was the last thing you heard before slamming your door shut. Thank goodness your father has the attention span of a child when he was drinking and placed in front of the tv with the Sunday football game on.

Your room was the only place you truly liked being. It was your haven and it shut the rest of the world out. Even though it was small, you somehow managed to fit a full sized bed in and a small dresser. Small plants littered your windowsills after finding them in the hallway one night. One of your previous neighbors was throwing them out because they claimed no sunlight came in through their windows. It was true because their windows faced the wall of the next building over, so you decided to take care of them. You liked to think of yourself as a mom to your five plant babies.

Taking off your coat and throwing it at the foot of your bed, you carelessly fall faced first into your bed and allowed the bedding to swallow you. You groaned as your muscles relaxed and the hissing of the radiator filled the room heat. You wanted to give in to the temptation to just fall asleep but you could feel the pressure of the bright orange bottle on your dresser closing in on you. Reaching over, you cracked the bottle open, took out two pills and swallowed them, not even bothering to take it with a gulp of water. You looked at the label on the bottle, staring at the 80mg dosage in deep thought.

_It's been 4 years since I started taking these. 4 years since that day… _ Your eyes shifted to your forearm, knowing what laid behind your sweater sleeve. You closed your eyes, hoping to doze off when the phone rang with a deafening sound causing you to shoot up in your bed with a gasp. Taking a phone call right before you planned to sleep was a recipe attitude.

You reached over with an aggravated huff and picked the phone of the receiver, placing it close you your ear.

“Who is it?”

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everybody! This is my first time posting on AO3 and I have'nt written a fanfic is a whiiiiiile, so I'd love to hear your thoughts! Also, sorry if there are any typos, I did'nt get to proofread because I was heading to classes.


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